Cloak of Darkness
by unamadridista
Summary: Spying on her new D.A.D.A. teacher for Harry was supposed to be a boring task, but Hermione soon discovers just how thrilling it could be. But sometimes watching is just not enough, especially when forbidden desires are revealed. SS/HG. M readers only, please.
1. Chapter 1

**Now that Club World Cup has ended, I'm back with a little Christmas present from me to fellow Snamione fans. I moved the Malfoy/Snape argument from Chapter 15 in _Half-Blood Prince_ to the end of Chapter 10 for the purposes of the story. For Lumione fans, I have a similar season-y smutty treat as well that will be posted soon.**

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><p>"An Unbreakable Vow?" Hermione asked Harry, furrowing her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"<p>

Harry looked annoyed. "I told you, when I left Dumbledore's office, I heard him arguing with Malfoy and he distinctly said that he made an Unbreakable Vow to Malfoy's mother. I know what I heard! Why are you always so skeptical? I'm not mental; I don't go around hearing random stuff."

"Sorry, I'm just making sure because it doesn't make any sense. Harry, I know that's what you think, but you said you never heard Malfoy actually say it and he was around his closest friends. Wouldn't he brag about it, or hint more strongly— "

She sighed. Ever since the day they followed Draco Malfoy to Knockturn Alley, Harry had been obsessed with proving that the Slytherin prefect was a Death Eater.

"Harry, Voldemort's not known to put his trust in underaged wizards. Why would he give Malfoy, of all people, anything important to do when he's a six-year student? He's still a schoolboy in his eyes and even if he was interested in recruiting current students, why would he choose an important job for a son of a man who, from his perspective, failed him? If the father couldn't do the job right, what makes Voldemort think that Malfoy's far less experienced son can? It doesn't make any sense. Voldemort's evil, but he's not stupid."

Harry continued to argue with her, "Well, maybe it's something that has to be done in school, that's why he'd be better off picking a student. And who cares why he chose Malfoy? I reckon Malfoy would have joined him sooner or later, I mean considering his father—"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "That would explain why Snape made an Unbreakable Vow to Malfoy's mother. Clearly, Malfoy would need help…" He stopped abruptly when Hermione threw him an irritated look. "Well, I mean if he was actually a Death Eater, which is very unlikely."

"But why else would Snape go to such extremes to help him out? Why else would his mother even ask something like this of Snape if Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater? He's clearly been told to do something—"

Ron looked uncomfortable, but Hermione adamantly shook her head. "But that's exactly it: if Malfoy was doing something for Voldemort, why wouldn't he accept Snape's help? Snape is not only his favorite teacher and Head of his House, but his godfather. He doesn't know that Snape's in the Order, so he has every reason to trust him and it would make his task easier having a teacher cover for him, or not give him detention."

"He said that he didn't want Snape to steal his glory. Who knows why he doesn't want Snape butting in? You should have heard the way he talked to him too. If it was any of us, we'd have detention till the end of term."

Ron still didn't say anything and Hermione could tell that, like her, he was beginning to tire of this conversation.

"But Harry," she began, "don't you think that Snape is gaining Malfoy's trust on Dumbledore's orders? He could have made up a lie about the Unbreakable Vow just to get Malfoy to tell him what he's up to? It doesn't necessarily have to be on Voldemort's orders either. Malfoy probably made it up to impress Pansy and those guys. It could be just Malfoy acting on his own to curry favor or to get back at Dumbledore for putting his father in Azkaban."

"I reckon Hermione's right," Ron piped up again. "Malfoy's probably just doing his dad's bidding and pretending it's some important thing for You-Know-Who."

"Well, I doubt that. You don't understand, if we could just follow him around and see what he's up to…"

Hermione groaned when she saw a knowing gleam in Harry's eyes. He called Kreacher and Dobby, asking them to follow Malfoy around and report all of Malfoy's doings to him.

She shook her head. "Harry, you should really concentrate on your homework. Between your Malfoy obsession and Prince's book, you hardly seem to care about anything else."

"Well, there are the Quidditch trials," Ron brightly said. "I'll try for Keeper again. I just need someone to practice with me in the evenings."

Harry and Ron launched into another Quidditch discussion as Hermione tuned them out and bent over her Runes translation.

"We'll just have to do it every evening after dinner, when I don't have lessons with Dumbledore, that is. Wait, why didn't I think of it before?"

"Think of what before?" Hermione asked.

"Well, Kreacher and Dobby are tailing Malfoy, but I think maybe one of them should follow Snape around too. Of course, it'll be better to see myself if he's—"

"Harry, that's absolutely ludicrous! Even with an Invisibility Cloak, you don't have time to follow anyone around. You have enough to worry about. Maybe if you spent time learning the principles of potions, you wouldn't need to use Prince's shortcuts to get ahead in class."

It was Ron's turn to look annoyed. "Oh, come off it, Hermione, you're not still going on about that. Could've been a disaster if it made it worse."

"You're right, you're right," Harry said, looking at Hermione. "But I need you to help me."

"Harry, you and Ron need to understand that I can help you, but I can't do your work for you all the time—"

"I'm not asking you to and I won't, I promise," Harry interrupted her. "I am asking for another favor though."

"What?"

"Since I can't do it, can you please?"

"Can I please what?"

"Follow him. Well, only for a while to see if he's really acting on Dumbledore's orders or if he's really made the Vow."

She let out an exasperated sigh. Hermione really didn't want to launch into another argument, so she found herself reluctantly agreeing, "If I do this, then you have to drop this 'Malfoy is a Death Eater' business until you find actual proof."

"Yeah, okay," he grudgingly conceded.

"And you have to promise not to take any more instructions from that Prince character."

"Hermione, it was only one time. You have to admit, Prince's instructions were way better than the book's," Ron interjected.

"Fine. But I'm only doing this on the weekends. We're all busy enough as it is during classes."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough."

It was supposed to be an easy enough plan, and Hermione was certain that nothing would come of it. But plans have a way of going astray and hers went terribly wrong almost from the start.

The first day of her observations, Hermione was almost caught. While Harry and Ron were off practicing for Keeper tryouts one Saturday, she was quietly following Snape about Hogwarts most of the afternoon. As she had unsuccessfully argued to Harry, nothing was amiss. The professor's activities were just as mundane as she had expected them to be. He had spent a few hours alone in his office. Then he went to his private storeroom, making note what ingredients were lacking and writing orders for more. Once he completed this tedious task, he had returned to his private chambers and firmly closed the door, leaving her outside in the shadows with nothing to observe.

For a while Hermione had stood outside his chambers, waiting for him to come out, but the waiting soon began to wear on her. Frustrated, she stepped out from her hiding place, took off Harry's cloak, and began to walk upstairs to the Gryffindor Tower. Harry would just have to deal with the fact that Professor Snape was obviously not up to anything sinister. Once on the seventh floor, just as she approached a familiar statue of Galatea Merrythought, it moved and Professor Snape stepped out from behind it and walked right into her path.

She drew to a halt with a small gasp. At the sound Snape whirled to face her, looking nearly as startled as she. Hermione's heart thudded hard in her chest. She had to be careful now, had to be as innocent as possible in this, or he would know…he always seemed to know when someone was…up to something.

She paused, eyes narrowing. Why had he stepped out behind the statue when he was supposed to be in his chambers?

He recovered from his surprise quickly and scowled down at her, then inclined his head. "Miss Granger."

Hermione tried to look over his shoulder at the statue, but was unable to see past his tall frame. "H-hello sir."

"What are you doing lurking about in shadows?" he demanded.

Her mouth dropped open. For a minute she was entirely at a loss as to what to tell him, thinking that he knew all about her following him all day, and it was hard to think under the scrutiny of those burning dark eyes.

At last she drew herself as tall and proud as she could manage, lifting her chin and glaring imperiously at him. "I am not lurking, sir. I was just returning from the library. The way to Gryffindor dormitories is on this floor."

"I am perfectly aware of that." Snape's expression shifted, just for a moment. It was a subtle shift, seen only in the slight sudden coolness of his eyes. Disappointment did not look well on Professor Snape. "Well, go on, don't dawdle about."

He stood rooted to the spot, waiting for her to leave. She hesitated, still trying to glance behind him, to see how exactly he had managed to slip through that statue and what lay behind it. Was it a room? A secret tunnel? She couldn't remember seeing one behind this statue on Marauder's Map. Of course, she never had a good look at it. Perhaps Harry knew. Professor Snape must have sensed her curiosity and he was clearly intent on sending her off to prevent her from investigating further.

"Actually," Hermione continued, "I was hoping to see if Headmaster was in his office."

"He's away today."

Her curiosity was further piqued. "Really? Why?" The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was a mistake. His eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. He looked very intimidating, almost threatening, yet Hermione felt an involuntary excitement course through her.

"Miss Granger, Headmaster's affairs do not concern you. In the future, try to arrange an appointment to see him rather than skulk about near his office. He does not have time for childish nonsense."

She felt incensed at his reprimand. "Some of us are no longer children, sir."

His eyes bore right through her. She was certain he must be using Legilimency on her and tried to close off her mind to his intrusion. But it never came. He was simply shocked at her retort. There was a long silence as they continued to stare at each other.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Now off with you."

"Good day, sir."

She turned on her heel and obediently walked back to the common room. Hermione knew she should feel indignant at him taking off points for absolutely nothing but somehow the entire exchange left her oddly exhilarated. She had the satisfaction of seeing the stoic professor startled, for just a moment. She continued on her way, not realizing that those burning black eyes were staring after her.

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><p>Hermione had meant to stop after that, had meant to tell Harry that she couldn't risk to continue anymore, but she couldn't stop wondering about what lay behind the statue. What was there? It had to be a passageway, but the Weasley twins never mentioned it and they seemed to know all the secret hideaways within the castle.<p>

Late that night, with only her wand light to guide her, she crept down the hall toward the statue again. Cautiously, glancing over her shoulder, she pulled at it until it slowly slid aside. It was very dark within, as though it led to a passage with no light. Still, she was compelled to see what lay beyond it. He had to have come from somewhere. She closed the statue behind her as quietly as she could and crept forward. It took only a few moments before she hit a set of doors, small and thin like the doors to a wardrobe or a cabinet rather than the doors to a room.

Hermione cracked one of them open just a little, and realized at once that she was looking in on Professor Snape's private chambers. It was the potions vials and the precision of the books that gave him away: there were hundreds of them, neatly lined up and carefully dusted on rows and rows of shelves. Scrolls of parchment in elegant containers also lined the walls, laid in specially built shelves so that they would not tip or fall. The vials stood behind the glass cabinet, each with its own label.

She had expected his chambers to be as dreary as his person, but as she opened the door a little wider she saw that the room was warm and inviting. What was expected was the decor: everything was neatly kept and remarkably well organized. There was a desk at which five quills sat, all in a perfectly straight line; a sheaf of blank parchment, laid in the direct center of the desk, and more books, organized by height and color on the hutch above it.

Hermione waited with bated breath to see if he was around, but there was not a single sound in the room. Feeling bold, she stepped into the room. One glance behind her confirmed what she had suspected: the secret passage in the wall led to an empty cabinet. The cabinet opened onto what seemed to be Snape's private study. To the left, she saw a bedchamber, which Hermione feared to enter. The professor was likely asleep at this hour and one misstep might wake him.

Still, curiosity got the better of her and she peered inside, not quite daring to walk inside. The room looked positively spartan and cold, so unlike the warm atmosphere of the study. The only things she could see was a chest, a wardrobe and a large four-poster bed. And it was empty.

If Snape was not asleep, then where was he?

Suddenly, there came the sound of footsteps. Quashing a gasp, Hermione turned and started for the cabinet again, but not fast enough. Her professor had stepped through the main door to his chambers, glancing warily over his shoulder. While he was distracted, she turned and scuttled off into his bedchamber, desperately looking for a place to hide. The wardrobe she saw earlier stood partially open and she quietly dashed inside, tucking herself in behind his cloaks and shirts, and prayed he would not go digging through it tonight. She should have taken Harry's Invisibility Cloak but she had returned it when she filled him in on her day of sleuthing.

Snape entered the bedchamber moments later, seeming unaware of her presence. He hardly glanced at the wardrobe as he approached his bed. He shrugged off his heavy cloak and folded it, setting it on the chest at the end of his bed and positioning it so that it was dead center. He undid the buttons at his front, stepping out of his robes and leaving him only in his trousers. Hermione's mouth went dry as his flesh was revealed: pale, lean muscle with old cuts lining his skin. He almost left his robes on the floor, but couldn't quite seem to be able to make himself walk away. Growling in irritation, he turned and scooped the robes off the floor, folding them as well and laying them on the chest by his cloak.

As he reached to undo his trousers, her breath caught in her throat, a sharp exhale that broke the perfect silence of his chamber. He stiffened at once, whirling at the sound, raising his wand. Hermione pressed her fist into her mouth, desperate to silence her own panicked breathing. What would he do if he should find her here?

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><p><strong>What indeed?<strong>

**Now off to edit the next chapter :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Christmas Eve, everyone!**

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><p>Hermione remained perfectly still.<p>

Snape turned toward the wardrobe at once, eyes wide with anger and suspicion. Hermione swallowed a small cry and pressed herself harder against the back of the wardrobe, closing her eyes. Minutes ticked away. A rustle of bedsheets was heard, and she guessed he must be in bed by now. The thought had made her uncomfortably warm, but she attributed it to the confined space. She just had to wait for him to fall asleep. The warmness and clean smell of his cloaks was so soothing that on numerous occasions Hermione had to shake herself from her drowsy state.

When she was confident that enough time had passed, she peered out. His form was on the bed, but in the dark, Hermione couldn't tell if he was truly asleep and she feared using the wand lighting charm, just in case there was a slight chance it might rouse him. Carefully crawling out, she silently crept out into his study and only then lit her wand and tiptoed into the cabinet again. Once inside the tunnel, she ran as though her life depended on it until she reached Fat Lady's portrait. Her breathing ragged, she squeaked out the password. She continued running until she reached the dormitories and then collapsed onto her bed. Gasping for breath, she sank down under the covers, chest heaving. Her faux-pas had almost cost her everything! What if she had been caught? He, no doubt, would have enjoyed punishing her – that had to cost her at least fifty points! Or it could have been much worse. This stupid stunt could have gotten her expelled. The thought was enough to send a jolt of fear up and down her spine. She tried to fall asleep but couldn't. Hermione swore to herself that she would just have to tell Harry that she wasn't going to do this anymore. He would have to be satisfied with Malfoy's spy detail. However, as sleep finally claimed her, all she could see was those haunting black eyes and those well-defined, strong, pale muscles.

Perhaps it were the disturbing dreams, or seeing Professor Snape cast a glare in her direction at breakfast, but in the light of day, Hermione's resolution to tell Harry that her spying days were over flittered out the window. And soon, she could not stop and she didn't do it just on the weekends either. The more she watched him from the cabinet and the wardrobe, the more fascinated she became by him. Hermione learned a thousand little things about him just by watching that she had never known before. She learned that he usually fell asleep at his desk, ink staining his fingers, head resting on his arm. Sometimes he talked in his sleep, but quietly, so quietly that she couldn't hear his precise words. She learned that he was very particular about the placement of his things: nothing was without its place and if an item was moved even half an inch, he would know.

After he'd unfairly take more points from Gryffindor in class or let her hard work in there go unacknowledged, Hermione would take great pleasure in creeping into his room as he slept and switching books, ink, and quills. Sometimes she simply moved an inkwell or two an inch to the left, and waited in the shadows to see his reaction when he awoke.

One night she saw him lay out a red item onto the bed. It was a silky piece of material, which was beginning to look quite familiar to Hermione. She realized with a start that it was one of her scarfs, a red silk one that matched the dress she wore to Professor Slughorn's Halloween party a few days ago; the one she thought she lost when she was trying to avoid Cormac McLaggen's unwanted attentions all night. Yet somehow, here it was – in his room, on his bed.

He approached it reverently, as if the scarf were a living woman. He lifted it from the bed with gentle hands, brought it up and buried his face in it. He inhaled, long and deep. Something in Hermione wrenched and tugged, sending a jet of heat into her veins. She was not afraid, not horrified. She felt oddly powerful that something of hers should have this effect on him. That night she returned to her quarters burning with a longing she did not want and could not quench. Her fancying Ron in the beginning of the year was nothing compared to these new, strange feelings.

The scarf was back in her trunk the next day. She assumed he had a house-elf bring it back. Sometimes, out of spite, she wore the scarf to meals, just to watch him stiffen and become so very, very still in his seat, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. She pretended not to notice, pretended it was just a scarf and nothing more. Each time she wore it, however, it was becoming more difficult to suppress a knowing smile.

Weeks passed.

By the time autumn turned to winter, Hermione became so excellent a scholar on Professor Snape's habits that she could name every place he'd visit on any given day and the hour at which he'd fall asleep, if asked. But Harry never asked and her reports had nothing of interest since the confrontation that he had witnessed between their professor and Draco Malfoy was never repeated.

The more she watched, the more difficult the pretense of innocence was becoming. It was, surprisingly, a slow undoing, slower than Hermione had ever anticipated. She'd thought that one night this would all have to end; she thought that, sooner or later, she would have another close call in his wardrobe or cabinet. Although she was careful to hide herself in Harry's cloak, Hermione had a feeling that Professor Snape would still figure out somehow that it was her. Professor Snape had a way of finding out the truth, even when he wasn't looking for it. Eventually, he was bound to figure it out. Still, it was a rather long process, one that took its toll on her in ways Hermione had never quite imagined.

Her new feelings and desires troubled her, more so with each passing day. As she watched him, she felt something growing within her – a budding desire, an affection of sorts. She noticed it first when she caught herself smiling at the way he straightened his quills in one long line along his desk. She noted that he had beautiful hands: long, delicate fingers, pale and graceful and lovely, for a man. Even that hooked nose of his, which was so reviled by others, appeared to her to be rather nice, lending a sort of regal comportment to his countenance. And his eyes were dark and intelligent, almost too frightening to look at for long.

With a start, Hermione tried to shake those thoughts out of her head, but it was futile. She came to an understanding that she was more than just a little attracted to her professor; she was falling for him. Falling for his ridiculous little habits, for his hands, for the heavy black cloak he hid himself in, and even for the way his hair fell over his eyes as he bent over another essay.

She had almost revealed herself then, for she had gasped aloud in horror. He was not a man with whom she could ever be. He was not a choice, could never be a choice; he was her professor and the one who despised her. She wasn't sure what for exactly. For being a Gryffindor? For being Harry's friend? For being Muggle-born? For being unapologetic about her knowledge? Any combination of the above? It simply had always been that way since her first day of Potions. To this day, he was the only teacher who had managed to make her cry.

Hermione fled almost at once, and swore up and down that she would never watch him again – never, if all it did was encourage this stupid infatuation. But she came back even after that night, like she always did. One night as she watched him caress her scarf again, a hunger roared to life inside her, igniting a raging fire that consumed her whole existence. It was a wish, an ache that reached into her very core, for his hands to caress her body like that instead of a flimsy piece of fabric.

As the days grew colder, this ache intensified, but Hermione convinced herself that it would pass. The holidays were just around the corner. Things would go back to normal next term.

Then Slughorn's Christmas party came and everything changed.

All the rules were broken.

All the hidden truths laid bare.

Hermione knew he would be at the party and chose her outfit precisely for that purpose. When he had repeatedly belittled her answers in class and refused to acknowledge her progress with nonverbal spells, she had decided to wear the dress and the scarf again. She always wore the scarf out of spite, but tonight her intent was more vicious than it had ever been before. She wanted him to want her. She wanted him to ache and burn and cry out inside, as he had made her burn and ache.

She had expected him to lurk in a dark corner and observe, as he almost always did. She had expected him to behave in his usual aloof and bitter manner, but he most certainly did not.

The scarf, or perhaps its combination with the dress, seemed to have a strange effect on him that night, stronger than she'd anticipated. His eyes glittered bright and hungry at the sight of her, his fingers curled around the stem of his glass. The dress might be nice enough on its own, but on her, fully dressed for the festivities, it had quite an effect. The matching silk scarf she wore hung effortlessly draped around her shoulders, swaying as she walked, and the dress clung to her like smoke, swirling and catching all of her soft curves. He watched her like a starving man watched a feast, biting at his lip until it almost bled. His longing was a palpable thing; a being she could smell, see, and taste even halfway across the room.

Hermione met his eyes and, stupidly, with triumph singing in her veins, she smirked and touched her scarf, imitating the manner of his private caresses.

Immediately, something about him changed. His eyes narrowed, mouth dropped open just a little as he considered her, and then he smiled a slow, triumphant smile that made Hermione go pale.

With one small caress, she had exposed herself.

Suddenly, the scarf and the dress seemed like a horrendous idea, and she wanted nothing more than to run from the thing that frightened her the most. She turned to duck out of the party, to return to her dormitory and go to bed.

And like all nightmares, hers followed closely on her heels.

"Miss Granger."

She froze at the sound of his voice, terror and anger flooding her veins. She turned to him slowly, trying to maintain her composure.

"Sir?" she asked, her voice noticeably trembled.

Professor Snape took a step toward her, predatory and greedy.

"Leaving so soon? I do hope it's not to trawl through my private storeroom…again."

She almost snapped back that she had never done so, but he did not pause long enough to give her the chance. "Or through my other rooms." he added.

Hermione swallowed, desperate to think of a quick lie. "I have no idea what you mean, sir," she said. "I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm not the sort of person who goes trawling around through other people's property. And unlike some people, I do not borrow things without an expressed permission either."

She stopped at once, mouth hanging open. She had done it again – revealed too much, exposed too much.

Snape's smirk broadened, both brows rising. "Yes, you thought I would not find out about your little nightly escapades," he murmured, stepping closer. She could feel his breath on her cheek, he was so close. "I knew it that very first night. I had a feeling you would not let your insufferable curiosity go unsatisfied." He tilted his head as if to kiss her, still too far back to do so but ready if she gave him the chance.

"Yet every time you wore this scarf, I still thought you innocent of its meaning." His voice was almost a growl. "Every time you flaunted it in front of me, I thought you so naïve, so unobservant. How could you not question where it disappeared to, night after night, day after day? But you never asked because you always knew. You wanted to torment me. It also means that you were out of bed way past curfew. Even your prefect privilege won't exempt you from punishment, Miss Granger."

She swallowed hard, breath catching in her throat. The ache was rising inside her, louder and so much more insistent than it had ever been before. He was so close to her, so close; all she had to do was reach out and he was hers.

Hermione raised her eyes to his, hungry and eager under her lashes. "I look forward to it, sir."

He exhaled sharply, half-gasp, half-snarl. For one wild moment, she thought he really would kiss her, would snatch her up right here in the middle of the sixth floor corridor and take her.

But then Professor Slughorn appeared at her side. "Miss Granger," he said, smiling at her. "There is someone I must introduce you to."

He glanced at Professor Snape. "Severus," he said good-naturedly, "you don't mind if I steal Miss Granger away for a moment, do you?"

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line. "Certainly. Steal away."

Hermione had thought that Severus Snape was the master of hiding his emotions, but she changed her mind at once upon seeing his face. She had rarely seen such naked rage before. There was murder in his eyes and death in his curled fists, and the promise of a hundred fiery torments in the set of his jaw as he glared at Slughorn. Snape turned his gaze back to her and for an instant, it consumed her, swallowing her whole. She inhaled sharply, going weak at the knees. The rage in him had turned into a predator's desire, ravenous and eager, scorching all the blood in her body. The pure wanting in his eyes made her very skin itch for his hands, his mouth, for any part of him against her. It took all her willpower to wrench her gaze away.

She knew in that moment what would have to happen that night. Her own desire could no longer be contained, or ignored, and she had no strength left to fight these feelings, however wrong they were. She knew it was stupid. In fact, it was likely the worst idea she had ever had, but she was going to take the secret passage into his private chambers again, and she was going to do it tonight.

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think. <strong>

**Next chapter will be the last, and let's be honest, it's pretty much all smut.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much dear readers and reviewers. I'm glad you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and a good last weekend of 2014! Now for the final installment...**

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><p>Much to Hermione's frustration, it was almost midnight before she could slip away. Draco Malfoy got caught prowling around the corridor and Harry spent the rest of the night blabbing her ear off about what he was really doing on this floor. She had finally convinced him to go to bed since he had to leave early with Ron the next day, and then set off for the statue again.<p>

Upon reaching it, she found herself hesitating. Was she really going to just shamelessly march into his bedchambers? What would he do? What would he expect? He said he'd punish her and she said she looked forward to it, but what would her punishment involve exactly? The thought made her nervous. He wouldn't dare to do anything too drastic, even if Harry and Ron were convinced that he was still a dangerous and untrustworthy Death Eater. Should she be afraid of such a man? Was she endangering herself by toying with him like this?

But then Hermione thought of the Professor Snape she had come to know through her observations: the man who liked to read long into the night, who meticulously organized every item in his rooms, who lived his life by strict routine, and who was very…lonely. Yet he was, she would grant, an intimidating person in many respects. He was an incredible sorcerer who mastered many different branches of magic and had an incredibly analytical mind, which allowed him to see things that many others would not notice. However, at the same time, he could be outright malicious without the slightest provocation. Not to mention, his draconian disciplinary tactics could be downright sadistic by accounts of all students who were unlucky enough to serve his detentions. But what did any of it matter now?

She thought of his hands again, the way he frowned when he was concentrating, and the way his eyes smiled when he held the red scarf in his hands, the eyes of a man who wanted but did not dare to touch – brittle and sharp eyes but ones that were so full of hope that she knew he would never harm her. Without further deliberations, Hermione stepped into the dark passageway and closed the statue firmly behind her.

The way toward his study seemed to take longer than usual, but she was hoping there would be a reward for her at the end. Finally, she came to a familiar set of doors and pushed through. She made more noise than she had intended, which he was sure to notice and it took away half the fun of surprising him, even if he might have an inkling that she would come tonight. Hermione half-hoped he was out, and had not heard her, but no sooner had she stepped out from the cabinet door than she saw him, leaning against the wall right opposite the cabinet, his arms casually folded across his chest.

"Well, well, Miss Granger," he said, a slow smirk spreading on his lips.

Hermione shuddered at the sound of his deep, smooth voice, but pretended to be unaffected by him. In truth, her heart was fluttering madly in her chest, threatening to pound right through it.

"Surprised?" she asked, smiling impishly as she pushed the cabinet door shut.

"Hardly."

He looked her over with a quick flicker of his eyes, bright and cold in the candlelight. He seemed to note that she had not changed her clothes. Dropping his arms, his fingers curled into fists as though to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her right there.

"You're either very brave or very stupid to come here," he continued.

Hermione shrugged, trying to calm the heavy beating of her heart. She turned away from him and approached his desk, walking her fingers over its surface to touch one of his quills, lying perfectly straight with its companions.

"That's not a fair assessment to make. Perhaps I'm neither," she said, twisting a quill a few centimeters to the left. She saw him twitch a little, but he made no attempt to stop her.

Snape arched both brows. "You are aware that your behavior is entirely inappropriate."

She turned to face him, wearing the smile of a much more worldly and experienced woman and said, "As inappropriate as borrowing one's belongings without permission? It seems both of us are deserving of punishment, not just me."

His smirk deepened.

"Your punishment, yes. Now there's a possibility I like," he purred, taking a few, painfully slow steps toward her. "Now what shall I do with you? Give you a month's worth of detention? Take off House points? So many options."

He paused, torturing her with silence. Hermione leaned back against his desk, lifting a quill and running the feather experimentally along her lip, then down her neck to her collarbone. He traced the same path with his eyes, licking his lips.

"I thought you might be a bit more resourceful than that. After all, I broke a lot of rules."

She had expected him to make a caustic remark, even to leap for her at once, but he did nothing of the sort. He didn't blink and didn't stop his slow, steady march toward her, staring into her eyes with a hunger that made her visibly shiver.

"What would be a proper punishment in your opinion? Be completely honest, Miss Granger. What would you like me to do to you?" he inquired.

Hermione's fingers curled tightly around the desk's edge to keep her steady, letting go of his quill in the process. Every inch of her felt as though it were melting at those words. The tension coiling and tugging at her with savage insistence was impossible to ignore.

She swallowed hard before moving to sit atop his desk and primly crossed her legs. "What if what I want is…forbidden? It's almost frightening."

He was no more than three feet away from her now. A few more steps, and he would be upon her.

"I am not the one to be easily frightened, Miss Granger, but perhaps you should be," he softly said. "Though it isn't like you to run from what you fear." He paused, tilting his head a little to the right. "So tell me what I want to know. What would you like me to do to you?"

"I often imagined what it would be like if you touched me like you did my scarf. I want you to touch me."

"Is that all?"

"The rest is up to you. You can do what you wish with me."

"You wouldn't take this coquetry so lightly if you knew of all the things I would truly like to do to you."

"Then that would be a suitable punishment, wouldn't you agree, sir? We have both broken some rules and now each of us will get to make amends by doing the other's bidding."

"And if I wanted to have my way with you on this very desk, what would you say?"

She let out a small squeak and knew that her mask of composure had been torn away. Blushing, she swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Not so ready to do that particular bidding, are you? Do you regret coming here now? You can easily leave, if that is what you wish. You know your exits." His gaze flickered over her face again, as if examining her for any signs of weakness. "Do you want to go and pretend this never happened?"

Hermione glanced toward the cabinet at the suggestion. Was he advising her to leave? Should she?

But thinking back on all those nights of yearning in her bed, imagining his hands on her and finding no way to placate the fire in her flesh, renewed her resolve. She had come here with a purpose and she would see it through.

Smiling the sort of smile that did not befit an innocent schoolgirl, she uncrossed her legs, letting the red material pool between her thighs. His eyes followed it.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, and closed the distance between them in one fell swoop.

He stepped between her legs before she could even think to close them. Gasping, Hermione stiffened and found herself face to face with him, closer than she'd ever been before. His nose just brushed the tip of hers, his lips hanging a few agonizing centimeters away.

"I've waited a long time for this," he said, the words issued in a soft hiss of breath, "and I intend to enjoy every second of it."

She must have looked afraid, because he smiled and gently kissed the very corner of her lips, too far to be considered a real kiss, but close enough to give her a taste of what was to come.

"Don't worry," he breathed into her ear, "you're going to enjoy it too."

Hermione whimpered. His voice alone, so low and seductive was enough to drive her mad. He caught her face in her hands and kissed her hard, bruising her lips. She moaned into his mouth as he grabbed her around the waist, yanking her close to him as hard as he could. She arched against him with a tiny cry, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging desperately to him as he deepened the kiss, teasing her with his tongue. He dropped one hand from her waist onto the desk to support himself.

He was wearing too many clothes. She was wearing too many clothes. The dress, thin and light though it might be, felt like it was choking her, strangling every inch of skin it covered. Squirming, she slipped her arms from around his neck, slipping the scarf from her neck, and tried to reach the zipper, her fingers shaking. He must have guessed what she was about to do because he pulled back at once and reached back to do it for her, kissing and nipping at her throat. The zipper appeared to have stuck, as he desperately tugged on it without success. Finally, losing his patience, he pulled back, took the dress at the neckline and tore it down the middle.

"Oh!" Hermione stared down at the ruined bodice and back up to him, looking wounded. "But I thought this one was your favorite."

"The dress is nice," he said. "You naked will be much nicer."

For a second, Hermione sat perfectly still, stunned to silence, then she laughed, a bright, bubbly laugh that made her professor's lips twitch up a little.

"Very well," she said, grinning. "Rip it to pieces then, if that pleases you."

"Oh, it does please me," Snape said, and tore it down the rest of the way.

He motioned to her bra and knickers, still left intact.

"Off," he ordered.

She raised her eyebrows in defiance. "You can't order me about like that. We're not in class anymore." Hermione crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest, hiding parts of her he most wanted to see.

He leaned forward, hands landing with a thump on either side of her thighs. "Off," he snarled. "Or I'll rip them off you and leave my name in ink all over your body."

Undaunted, Hermione unfolded her arms and reached behind her to grasp one of his quills and an inkwell, knocking the rest carelessly to the floor. His eyes darted downwards to where she set his writing supplies neatly in front of him.

Hermione smiled fiercely at the sound. "I'd like to see that," she challenged him and reached up to kiss him again.

His hand came up to catch her curls. He pulled, hard, tearing her mouth from his and exposing her throat.

"So be it," he growled and bit down on her neck.

Hermione twitched and moaned, trying to tug her hair out of his grip to no avail. While he had her vulnerable, he pushed back the ruined dress, exposing her creamy skin. With an almost maniacal glint in his eyes, he moved from her neck to her collarbone, biting and sucking a path down to her breasts and tracing the ruin left in his wake with the feather of his quill.

"I am not some tame schoolboy who you can control," he said, voice ragged and hoarse with longing. "I will mark every last inch of you until my name is the only word your tongue can speak."

His hands released her hair and slipped down to grasp the fabric of her bra, effortlessly tearing it in the front and back, tossing the remnants to the floor. He moved between her legs and Hermione heard her knickers rip, her skin stinging from the harsh pull where they tore.

He returned to trail more kisses down her neck and chest, coming to a pause at her breasts. He closed his mouth around one nipple, first sucking, then biting, after which he licked it as if to soothe. Hermione's body responded to the stimulation: she was increasingly growing wetter and her inner muscles clenched repeatedly around nothing. The professor maintained this pattern until the licks and bites started to hurt equally.

Her fingers dove into his hair.

"Please," she whispered, not entirely sure what she was pleading him to do.

At once, he transferred his attentions to the other nipple and resumed his pattern until that one was just as sore as the first. She couldn't help but squirm each time his mouth made contact with it, yet Hermione refused to ask him to stop, afraid that any halt to their activities might prove this to be one of her nightly fantasies.

With a final bite, Snape pulled away from her breasts and stood back to admire his handiwork before kneeling between her thighs, planting a kiss on one before sucking hard at the skin, smirking when she gasped.

"Let's start here," he purred, as he dipped his quill into an inkwell and raised it to trace the letters of his name on her skin, darting forward to lick her between her legs.

Taken by surprise, Hermione sharply cried out, burying one hand in his hair as the other gripped the desk edge to prevent her from falling flat across it. This she had never expected of him. And she never expected such an instant flood of sensations to fill her body.

He tweaked and teased her clit, before sucking it gently between his lips. Hermione thought she would come just from this in seconds. Her legs trembled even more when she felt his quill return her inner thighs. As he penned his name on her, the tip scratched against her skin while the vane of the feather tickled it; the delicious contrast of sensations caused her to gasp one minute and hold her breath to keep from giggling the next.

He suckled at her damp folds, searching and tasting every part of her, until Hermione was moaning and pleading incoherently. She tilted her hips to gain better access to his tongue where the ache that consumed her for weeks was at its strongest. Her knuckles were white from gripping the desk so tightly, her hips rocked against him, wanting him closer…closer than close…She felt the first wave of her release sweep over her body. Then suddenly he withdrew from her.

She cried out in protest.

"Did you like it?" he asked, rising up.

"Yes! Please…"

"No," he murmured in her ear. "You can't come until you apologize."

"What for?" she snapped in frustration.

"For playing your little games with me all this time."

Her curls bounced as she shook her head. "No! I won't apologize because I'm not sorry. I would do it all again, if it led me to this."

It seemed as though an eternity had passed as he stared straight into her defiant eyes. Although it was far from an apology he so fiercely demanded from her, apparently, Snape was pleased with her answer because he kneeled down once more and returned to his abandoned task. It didn't take long for him to bring her to the edge again. Her inner muscles clenched and contracted around his tongue until she shuddered around him with a whimper.

She closed her eyes as drowsiness came over her. Never had she experienced such complete satisfaction before. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him undressing, flinging his garments to the floor in uncharacteristic sloppiness, half expecting him to go and neatly fold them, as she'd seen him do a hundred times. But he stayed with her instead, catching her shaky fingers and laying them on his cloth-trapped erection. He was ragingly hard against her palm and at the touch of her fingers his eyes fluttered closed, mouth parting in a small groan.

Hermione wanted so much to see him. She wanted to be pinned under his body, those beautiful hands to his touching every inch of her body. She wanted anything and everything he could give her, and she wanted it at once.

Propriety forgotten.

All the rules discarded.

They were simply a man and a woman about to consummate the most primeval of urges.

Stepping out of his trousers, he tossed them aside as well and snatched her up into his arms and violently kissed her. She moaned into his mouth as she pressed herself against him and gasped when he practically threw her back onto the desk, parting her legs with a fearsome growl. He caught her thigh in his hand and drew her leg up around his waist, angling her hips so that the tip of his cock just brushed her slick folds.

He pulled back, just for a moment, to look at her, black eyes locked on hers.

"Tell me you want me," he said, very softly.

"I want you," she whispered.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Say my name."

"Severus," she breathed out, testing out each syllable on her tongue.

"Say it – say it again," he said, his voice shaking.

"Severus," she repeated, her voice rising a notch more.

Hermione wanted all of him, wanted him in her as deep as he could go, not caring about the possible pain.

"Again," he commanded.

This time when she said it loud and clear, "Severus!"

He took a hold of one of her legs and thrust inside her to the hilt with a single stroke. Pain seared through her as her walls were forced to stretch around him; it felt as though she was being torn apart. Hermione was unable to suppress her scream and it echoed around the room. Before she had any time to adjust, he wrapped her legs around him, allowing his cock to slip in deeper, and she stifled further screams, biting down on her lip. Her lover didn't move, but she shifted about, trying to find a less painful position. The more she moved, however, the more it hurt, so she ceased her movements and forced herself to lie still.

Once he began to move, he thrust inside her with slowness. He took several seconds to pull out and several more to push back in. Hermione remained still, waiting for the pain to recede. It felt like an eternity before it turned to a bearable discomfort and, when it did, she found her pelvis rising up to meet his. Soon, his name spilled unprompted from her lips, a frantic plea for more. He took her mercilessly now, stroking and thrusting until all she could do was cry out his name, over and over again. She clutched at his back, leaving long scratches on his pale flesh. In turn, his hands clutched her thighs so hard, she was sure there would be dark bruises in the morning. It didn't matter – nothing mattered but him and the growing fierce flames of pleasure that flared through her body before burning out with a blinding blaze, sending her moaning and arching against him.

Hermione clung to him long afterwards, trying to catch her breath. The room was spinning madly, and he was the only real and solid thing she had to cling to. Meanwhile, he increased his pace, plunging into her with furious strokes. Finally, he grunted as his body shuddered above her, spilling his warm seed inside as his hips bucked forward. He kept moving, panting against her sweaty shoulder until he was done. When he pulled out, she could feel thick wetness dripping from her.

It seemed to take Severus just as long to come back down. Still shaking, still gasping, he lifted her off the desk and carried her into his bedroom, gently laying her on his bed and crawling down beside her. He circled his arms around her waist and tenderly held her against him. Hermione folded her hands over his and murmured his name, eyes fluttering closed.

She didn't know how long she had slept, but only stirred from her sleep when she felt a hand caressing her shoulder and heard her name spoken in a familiar baritone. Slowly opening her eyes, Hermione saw Severus leaning over her and smiled at him. His hand gently touched her cheek.

"We must get you back to bed," he softly said.

"But I'm already in bed."

"I mean your own bed."

She wriggled under the covers. "I prefer yours."

The corners of his mouth twitched up. "And I like you in it, but you must return. How would it look if you're not back by morning?"

Hermione knew he was right. Common sense swiftly returning, she nodded and dutifully got up, ignoring the throbbing soreness between her legs. He left her to get dressed, her clothes already mended. Once dressed, she went into the bathroom to repair the tangles in her hair and gasped in horror when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Deep reddish bite marks lined her skin from chin to breast. Hermione did not even dare to look at her thighs; she knew his name would still be there, written five times at least. It would take weeks for the bites and bruises to properly heal and she'd have to procure a balm over the holidays to help her hide them. She felt overwhelmingly grateful for the cold winter weather, which would allow her to hide his doing under scarfs and jumpers.

Concealing her nervousness, Hermione stepped into his study to bid him good night, feeling very awkward. He was sitting at his desk; everything on it was once more in its precise position. It was as though their escapade had not occurred.

He looked up at the sound of her steps, his eyes traveling up and down her body.

She grew warm under his gaze and, feeling bolder, walked up to him. Placing her red scarf around his neck, Hermione leaned down to kiss him, slowly and tenderly, consuming his mouth as he had her senses.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," she breathed out to him.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Granger," he replied, then turned back to the parchments on his desk.

As she was about to step through the cabinet door into the tunnel, she turned back.

"Sir?" she called out.

He turned once more to look at her, raising his eyebrows in silent inquiry.

"You never did punish me, you know."

He stood and walked up to her, standing so close that she thought he might kiss her again. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned down, positioning his lips right at her ear.

"Next time, Miss Granger," he drawled. "I'm far from being through with you."

Elated, Hermione practically floated to her dormitory. She didn't know what the new year would bring, but as long as it involved Severus Snape, it was bound to be exciting.

* * *

><p><strong>While this story is complete, all those "next times" will require a sequel, no?<strong>


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